35: LOST LOVES

(Therin’s story)

“Seeing you again,” Doc said. “I never dreamed—”

Therin cleared his throat. “Explain first, then gush.”

Valathea had slowly, carefully walked out past the tree line, turned, and waited. Therin and Doc had joined her. No one tried to stop her. Therin suspected that no one dared.

She sat down on a log and adjusted her dress. “Yes. Please explain. Because unless you’re a mimic, I fail to understand how you’re not Mithraill when you look exactly like my husband’s killer.” She stared at her hand. “Honestly, the only reason I didn’t turn you in is because I’ve discovered I’m even less fond of our new queen.”

“Who knew she’d turn out to be such a massive bitch,” Therin said.

“Do you remember a necklace Terindel used to wear? Blue stone, around this big?” Doc held his fingers apart. “Wizard gave it to him. Swore it would save him from being killed?”

“Yes,” Valathea said. “I also remember it didn’t work. But thank you for the reminder. I should see if Grizzst is still alive so we can talk.”¹

“No, it worked,” Doc said. “Grizzst neglected to explain how ‘save’ meant the stone would swap the souls of its wearer with that of their killer. But technically, I didn’t die—I just ended up wearing Mithraill’s body.”

Valathea’s violet eyes widened. “If this is your idea of humor, I find it in poor taste.”

“No, I swear.” Doc went down on his knees next to her. “Valathea, it’s me, Terindel. I tried to find you, but by the time I did, you’d been turned into a harp and…” He gulped air, his expression miserable. “If you’re wondering why I never changed back, it’s because it seemed safer with everyone searching for Terindel. Then I grew used to it and—”

Valathea put a finger against his mouth to quiet him. “What’s my name? My voras name?”

Therin blinked. Voras name? Why would she have a voras name?

“A’val,” Doc said instantly. “Your personal name was Athea.”²

Valathea raised her hand to her mouth. Tears began spilling down her cheeks.

Then they were in each other’s arms, lips pressed together, oblivious to Therin’s presence.

Therin cleared his throat. “You know, I should give you two some space. I’ll be over here.” He gestured vaguely toward the forest. If they heard him at all, they didn’t indicate it. He walked away from the pair and leaned against a tree, looking out into a forest he apparently had more ancestral connection with than he’d ever imagined. It would certainly make for interesting dinner party conversation with the Duke of Kirpis.

Therin saw a looming problem on the horizon, a test of loyalties he had no idea how to navigate. His best friend, who didn’t want to see the Ritual of Night enacted. His goddess, who did. Khaeriel’s goal to reclaim the throne. Doc’s probable wish to do the same now that he had Valathea back. And hovering over it all, his son Kihrin, the prophecies, and the literal end of the world.

Leaves crackled behind him as someone approached. He turned to see Valathea, Doc on her heels, grinning like a schoolboy who’d just been given free rein in a bakery.

“And who are you?” Valathea asked.

“Love, this is Therin, a good friend.” Doc voice grew somber. “Also our great-grandson.”³ In answer to her unasked question, he added, “Valrashar’s gone. I’m sorry.”

Valathea froze. Her composed joyful expression cracked and fell away, leaving something wounded almost beyond endurance underneath. Therin’s mouth dried and his throat felt thick. Her grief was painful, in no small part because it was so familiar.

Therin had seen six of his children die, each death a hammer blow against a thick glass plate, until finally, with Kihrin’s death, he’d shattered. And while Kihrin had returned to him, the boy’s older siblings were gone forever. Therin ached to think of it, a dull, empty hurt trapping the breath in him, bringing tears to his eyes. Would it be worse to only have one child and lose her? Or was it more that she’d only been hurt once compared to his half-dozen times?

Or was it useless to juxtapose such moments of loss against each other when each one was its own fatal wound? One stab to the heart killed as easily as six.

The former queen of the Kirpis vané picked up Doc’s hand in hers and squeezed it. Then she started to pull away, straighten, and compose herself. Doc made a noise and pulled her into his arms.

Therin turned away a second time and tried to ignore the sound of the woman sobbing. He prepared another retreat, again to give them some privacy if this time for a different reason.

“No, no, wait.” Valathea backed away from her husband, wiped her hands across her eyes. “We’ve no time for this. There’s a young man we need to save. Someone caught up in that ‘treason’ matter Miyane babbled about. If he is who I think, then the whole world’s fate may depend on finding him before your extremely foolish nephew can execute him.”

“What?” Doc turned to Therin of all people. “Who?”

Therin scoffed, then cleared his throat in an entirely unsuccessful attempt to hide how infectious Valathea’s tears had been. “Why ask me?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t think you’d know him,” Valathea said. “His name is Kihrin.”

---

“We’re leaving, right now.” Therin began walking toward the Well of Spirals the moment Valathea finished her explanation.

Doc made a face. “Agreed, but first things first.”

Therin stopped. “They have my son. And for that matter, they have your—” He broke off since Valathea was standing right there.

Doc sighed.

Valathea raised an eyebrow at her husband. “Your—what?”

“My son,” Doc said. “They also have my son.” He held out his hands. “It’s not like I’ve had a chance to tell you.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did.” Valathea’s expression still looked haunted, not yet recovered from the earlier grief. She sniffed. “Who’s the mother?”

Doc hesitated.

Therin wondered if this might be yet another good time to wander off. The only thing more embarrassing than being this close to a friend having an intimate moment was being this close a friend having a screaming fit with their spouse. The latter seemed imminent.

“Khaemezra,” Doc said.

Therin frowned, because Doc had said—

“Thaena?” Valathea’s voice held the whisper-smooth edge of a sharpened razor sliding against one’s throat.

Therin rubbed his temple. He reminded himself he was no longer a Thaenan priest. And he still hadn’t sorted through his feelings regarding a goddess capable of having lovers, children, and all these secrets. Maybe Doc was right to claim she shouldn’t be worshipped as a goddess at all.

“It made sense at the time?” Doc wrinkled his nose.

Valathea pulled herself up.

“I hate to interrupt,” Therin said, “but can we go rescue the kids now? You two can argue later. I’m sure Terindel has all sorts of skeletons in the closet for you to be upset about.”

Doc glared every dagger in the world at him.

“I’m not jealous.” Valathea’s protest was a soft tiger purr. “But my husband and I have always had an understanding—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Doc said, “before you say something you’ll find embarrassing later. Also, Elana Milligreest.”

Valathea paused midsentence as if Terindel has said the final command word in a complicated enchantment. “Ah.”⁴

“Uh-huh. Exactly.”

Therin resigned himself to being able to understand voral clearly and yet still having no idea what anyone was talking about. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Rescue. Kids. Now.”

The two vané stared at each other for a long beat, and then Valathea picked up Doc’s hand and kissed his fingers. “He’s right. We’ll discuss this later.”

“If you say so,” Doc said as if that wasn’t a conversation he probably wanted to put off until after the end of the world, “but let me go first with Chainbreaker. Just in case my nephew or his wife have come back with soldiers.”

“They’ll be in such trouble with the Founders if they keep this up.” Valathea tsked.

Therin resisted the urge to ask who the Founders were. Priorities.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s just do this.”